


Snakes, Tom Riddle, and Other Untrustworthy Things

by TeruWigFund



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Time Travel Fix-It, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21703426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeruWigFund/pseuds/TeruWigFund
Summary: When Harry is offered the chance to change the past in hopes of saving the lives lost during Voldemort’s reign of terror, he wholeheartedly accepts.However, the first year Harry that wakes up on the Hogwarts Express has no memory of the task he’s agreed to.And he thinks this Tom Riddle kid would make a good friend.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 155
Kudos: 725





	1. Sometimes Offers Should Not Be Accepted

_“You want them back.”_

_“Who?” Harry whispered to the smoky black that surrounded him and filled his body with nothing but cold. He could not see any further than his own hands, and it was impossible to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He should have been afraid. He would have been afraid—if he could be. It was an impossible emotion when the dark seemed to curl around him in such a comforting way._

_“The people who died for this future,” it spoke again, far off and echoing._

_The hissed voice was almost soothing, like it was trying to dislodge the guilt deep inside his chest with its words alone. The guilt that clutched to the ashen, expressionless faces piled up in the rubble of Hogwarts. Friends, family, teachers, children— “Yes,” Harry croaked. “More than anything.”_

_“At the cost of what you’ve already won, would you go back to save them?”_

_“Yes,” he said with as much finality as he could muster._

_The cold beneath Harry’s skin warmed, and the smoky black around him was in the process of becoming impossibly dark. It closed in on him. He felt as if he was suffocating, but the warmth within him begged him to simply close his eyes and be taken._

_Now was for rest._

_Worry was for later._

Harry’s eyes flew open to the sound of the train horn being blasted, its wheels squeaking in protest as they began to move. He peeled himself from the window and rubbed his eyes with closed fists.

How strange, he thought, to fall asleep in such an unfamiliar and exciting place. Though whatever he had dreamt had left him with a lingering melancholy that dampered the thrill of the Hogwarts Express just a little. He couldn’t quite remember what the dream had been, but he wasn’t sure he exactly wanted to on the off chance that it ruined his first night at Hogwarts. Though he doubted even the most horrible of dreams could. A smile was already back on Harry’s face just at the thought of getting to see more magic.

Three even knocks on his compartment door broke Harry from his thoughts of Hagrid and owls and whatever other mysteries Hogwarts might hold. He leapt up and slid the door open.

He was met with a pair of eyes that were already locked onto his. It was a bit chilling, though he couldn’t quite place why. Maybe it was the absence of a smile, or the well groomed hair that didn’t seem to have a single strand out of place. Possibly it was the boy’s rigid, proper posture and the feeling of importance that seemed to come with his well put together person, that Harry knew he himself possessed none of.

“The other compartments are full, I was wondering if I might be able to sit here?” The boy asked politely, and the lack of menace or distaste in his voice broke some of Harry’s unease. Maybe he was simply an awkward child that didn’t know when to extend a friendly smile, and Merlin knew that Harry himself had much to learn when it came to being an awkward child.

“Of course!” Harry grinned, hoping his eagerness made up for his earlier moment of discomfort.

“Thank you,” the boy replied with a nod.

Harry watched as his rigidness didn’t seem to budge even when he sat on the bench across from him. He would’ve expected the boy to maybe try to make conversation or watch the scenery passing their window, but his eyes only seemed to study everything, from Harry’s too baggy clothes to the scar on his forehead. Though the scar seemed to be the last destination of his wandering eyes, which made Harry fidget.

“I’m Harry,” He said in an attempt to break the heavy focus that was on him. He was grateful when the boy’s eyes immediately snapped to meet his. “What’s your name?

“Tom,” A small polite smile finally met his face, and Harry gladly shook the hand he extended towards him.

Tom didn’t seem as bad as his overly focused eyes and rigid posture had made Harry believe. Maybe he already had his first friend at Hogwarts— strange and stiff, but still a possible friend.

The dining hall was crowded and boisterous, and he’d been bumped into numerous times in the huddle of first years, but Tom couldn’t bring himself to mind. There was too much to take in as distraction. The long tables filled with endless uniformed students, candles floating around them, and the _sky_. Starlit and breathtaking, right above him.

This is where he belonged, he already knew. A place as magnificent and impressive as this was where Tom was supposed to be. The dull, hideous orphanage had been a fluke. Tom was always meant to be _here_ , surrounded by magic and the means to harness it. He could feel the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. This place was wonderful.

“Tom Riddle.”

He walked towards the stool with no hesitation. The sorting hat was ragged and worn, not nearly as impressive as the floating candles or the twinkling sky of a ceiling. As it was placed on his head, the hat made a small hum of contemplation.

“There’s no doubt, you belong in—“ The hat switched from his conversational tone to an announcer voice for the whole hall to hear, “Slytherin!”

Tom slid off the stool as soon as the hat was taken from him, and made his way to the only table that seemed to be cheering for him.

He didn’t need the other houses to cheer for Slytherin, as it was not yet _his_. Soon he would make it successful and respected, and that would win the rest of the houses’ favors. They all would cheer when they heard the name Slytherin, just as they seemed to do for the Gryffindors.

“Harry Potter.”

The boy from the train who had bought as much candy as his hands could grab was fidgeting on his way to the stool. He had split it with Tom, but whenever he had eaten a piece of it his stomach only soured more at the thought of a kid his age being able to afford such a gross amount of candy without batting an eye. He wanted to twist his fists into his robes out of frustration. How different his life could have been had he been raised in this place, had been as lucky as that Harry Potter was with his pockets full of money and his eyes bright and twinkling.

He would have what Harry had. He would get it through work, and through charm. Nobody was going to stop him from having all that should have been his from the beginning.

“Slytherin!”

Tom watched as Harry hopped off the stool and started towards the tables.

Maybe his pockets of money and his overly trusting eyes were meant to be Tom’s as well, just as Slytherin would be. Harry was meant to be a tool on his way to greatness.

“Tom!” Harry looked relieved to find a familiar face he could cling to while surrounded by a sea of unfamiliarity.

Charm and hard work would get him far, no doubt. But what one could accomplish on his own paled at what could be accomplished with a well off, blindly trusting ally.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Tom said smoothly, making room on the bench beside him. Harry took the seat without hesitation, and Tom could say he almost felt a thrill at how easy things seemed to be going his way in this world of magic.

He rather liked it.


	2. Muggles Know Nothing

The first week of classes had quickly worn away at Harry’s morale. While he had struggled to get his wand motions and pronunciation to match up (and nearly caught his own sleeves on fire just yesterday morning), Tom was being praised for excelling at every task they were handed. Harry felt as if they were opposites in every sense of the word; where Tom was politely charming and had already won the hearts of their professors, Harry was awkward and clumsy, and while Tom seemed to look effortlessly perfect every day he’d seen him, Harry could struggle in front of a mirror for hours and still look as if a raccoon had gotten into a rather nasty fight with his hair. Sometimes Tom would fervently read one of their textbooks and neglect his meals while everyone ate around him, even though Harry knew he’d already read through all of their assigned books in entirety. Harry couldn’t imagine letting such delicious food go to waste in favor of studying. Not to say that he minded the obsessive reading habit though, in fact he was grateful for it. Tom was always more than willing to answer all of the questions he had on his homework.

While it had been discouraging the past week to be so completely outshined in everything, Harry couldn’t help but wish that Tom might shine a little brighter during their first potions class. Maybe it would take some of the attention off of himself; he didn’t know why, but Professor Snape seemed to hate him no matter what he did. It didn’t matter that both Tom and the Hermione Granger girl from Gryffindor repeatedly volunteered to answer the complicated questions Snape was throwing at him, the professor seemed to simply want to watch Harry suffer. He had never felt such relief as when they were told to partner up and focus on their potions— not as if Harry was at all confident in his ability to make a potion that could cure boils, but at least he wouldn’t be subjected to more pop quiz questions in the meantime.

His relief only lasted until he turned to complain to Tom, who was not already working on the assignment as usual. Instead, he was turned away from him and speaking with Draco Malfoy. Harry felt his already whithered mood deflate even more. He wasn’t sure why he had expected the smartest kid of their class to keep putting up with his mistakes and disastrous attempts at magic—Tom would certainly get a lot more done without him.

“With the both of us as a team, there’s no doubt we’ll be the best in class,” Draco boasted. “No one else here can brew potions as well as I can.”

Harry hated Malfoy. He was pompous and rude and they’d gotten off on the wrong foot the first night in their dorms. A small sick pit in his stomach made him wonder, if Tom started to spend more time with Draco, would he inevitably become just as pompous and rude himself? Harry didn’t know if he’d be able to take it. Between Professor Snape and his less than friendly roommates, Tom had been the only part of Slytherin that seemed worth it. If he grew bored of Harry and decided to spend all of his time with Draco’s gang, Harry would wish he’d never been placed in Slytherin in the first place.

“I already have a partner, thank you.” The even voice beside him said.

Harry blinked a few times as Tom started arranging ingredients around Harry’s cauldron, and Malfoy mirrored his surprise behind him. He seemed to break out of it faster than Harry though, because he’d quickly turned red faced and bristling.

“You’ll regret spending your time on filthy _Potter_ , Riddle!” Draco sneered, already stalking off to join Blaise Zabini on the far end of the room.

Harry would’ve sworn that Tom hadn’t even heard him with how unchanged his facial expression was from its usual polite neutrality, if Draco had not spat the words just a wand’s length away from him.

“Pass me the porcupine quills, Harry,” Tom had his hand out and his eyes already focused on the task before him.

“Er—Right,” Harry fumbled a moment before placing the quills in his palm.

•••

Harry weaved through the string of students that were ambling towards the dining hall for breakfast. He spotted Tom with no difficulty, as he was probably one of the only students heading the opposite direction. Saturday seemed to have no effect on his early schedule.

“Morning,” Harry greeted, falling into step with him.

“Good morning,” Tom didn’t break his stride. Probably heading to the library, Harry thought.

“Tom, can I ask you a question?” The growl in his stomach begged him to turn around and keep heading towards the dining hall, but Harry knew he had to ask his embarrassing questions when the other Slytherins weren’t around to ridicule him— which may only be early Saturday mornings, when no creature should be doing anything but yawning and making slow work of their toast.

“Of course,” Tom gave a small smile of what looked to be a practiced gesture. Even if his amicability seemed almost rehearsed, Harry was grateful for it.

“Thanks,” Harry felt his voice self consciously drop a level or two before he asked what had been on his mind since the posting for next week’s flying lessons were put up. “What’s Quidditch?”

“A sport,” Tom answered, though in a rather stiffly manner compared to his usual grace with words.

“Um...What do you… _do_ in Quidditch?”

Tom glanced at him and Harry could almost hear his brain putting things together. He was starting to feel nervous, and that this had been a bad idea. Sure, Tom had been friendly enough with all of his Transfiguration and Charms questions, but lots of the other students had been slow to pick those up. _Everybody_ seemed to know about Quidditch, and Harry was starting to feel the weight of what not knowing gave away about him. That he didn’t belong, that he wasn’t a _real_ wizard, that Tom had not yet come to that realization and that when he did Harry would be left to his own devices and loneliness again.

“You don’t know?” Tom’s eyes were scrutinizing, searching for something. Maybe he was trying to find the joke in Harry’s question.

“No,” Harry felt his throat go dry and his cheeks flush with shame. He shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question. “I— grew up with muggles… They don’t teach you about things like Quidditch.” He tried to force out a light hearted laugh to chase away some of his embarrassment, but he could tell that it fell short.

Tom looked away, focusing again on the path in front of him. Harry thought he caught a slight furrow between his brows, but it quickly disappeared when he started speaking with his usual sureness again.

“Muggles know nothing,” He said it as if he were reciting one of the facts from _A History of Magic_ aloud. “I was going to the library to read about Quidditch before our first flying lesson. You’re welcome to look for books with me.”

Harry felt a rush of relief that went all the way to his toes. The way that he had said it— _Muggles know nothing._ — It made Harry feel as if Tom felt muggles were the abnormal ones, not Harry.

“Thank you,” He said, his footsteps already lighter and his smile no longer forced.

“No need to thank me.”

Something about Tom’s tone seemed just ever slightly too dark for such a friendly statement, but Harry decided to blame the observation on the nerves he’d been feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update we’re getting into the good old Quidditch swing of things!
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!! I’ve been having so much fun writing this, thank you for reading it!


	3. Flying With Confidence

“Up!”

Tom’s eyes flitted to the broomstick that snapped to Harry’s hand beside him.

“Up!” He repeated. His broom was motionless in the dewy grass, not a single bristle twitching in the wind. 

“Up!” Not a twinge. Only a third of the students had their brooms in their hands—it seemed it may just take persistence.

“Up!” 

Left and right broomsticks were shooting up into classmates’ palms, their grins and giggles grating against Tom’s skin. His teeth clenched and the fingers he held expectantly open were shaking in his frustration.

“Up!”

“Up!”

“Up! Up, up _up!_ ” 

The broom unsteadily flicked a few inches off the ground. Tom snatched it before it could fall back to its unresponsive resting place, and gripped it in an unforgivingly tight fist. He could feel the tightness of his lips and the angry flare of his nostrils, but seeing that he had beat only _Neville Longbottom_ to acquiring his broom, he found it difficult to soothe his facial features. 

“Good job,” Harry whispered in what seemed to be a comforting tone. 

Tom wanted to wipe the encouraging look right off of his face. He wasn’t some pathetic creature that needed comforting. 

He also wasn’t pathetic enough to break his charming exterior so easily. Not over a _broom_. Granted it was an infuriating broom, but—still a broom. He shot Potter a tight lipped smile and a nod. Flying lessons would not whisk his carefully crafted manners away from him. Not on the first day. 

As soon as Neville got his broom into his little hands, Madam Hooch was explaining how they were to fly just a couple feet into the air and then dive back to the ground, and Tom watched incredibly carefully. He took in all that he could observe, determined to succeed. He would not make a fool of himself, especially not in such an open and public lesson as this was. 

Tom swung his leg over the broom, double and triple checked the positioning of his hands on the handle, and—

Watched Neville Longbottom rise into the sky like a helium balloon. 

The heavy thud that followed started a cacophony of worried noises, and Tom physically strained in the effort it took to not let his eyes roll. As Madam Hooch busied herself with getting Longbottom to the Hospital Wing, Tom let out a small frustrated breath of air. This class was a worthless embarrassment, and he turned to tell Harry as much. Except, Harry was not beside him, and his broom had vanished with him. 

Tom glanced around to look for where the boy had gone off to, before he heard a voice that was familiar in everything but the fact that it was shouting. More peculiar than the anger that he had not heard fleck Harry’s voice before now, was that it seemed to be coming from above him. 

“Give it here, or I’ll knock you off that broom!” 

If not for the surprise of seeing Harry hovering in the air with Malfoy, Tom felt he probably would have smiled. He would love to see Draco knocked to the ground by someone as timid as Harry. Though, maybe not as timid as Tom had previously thought if he was in the midst of an airborne screaming match. 

And certainly not with the dive Harry suddenly led his broom into. The look of determination, outstretched fingers, only one hand gripping the broomstick—certainly they weren’t features that belonged to a timid, toothpick of a boy. 

Tom’s breath caught in his throat as the broom grew quickly nearer to a splintery demise. He racked his brain for a way to prevent the wreckage that was about to unfold before him, but it was all happening too fast for him to dig up the right spell; if only Harry had had enough sense to keep a level head, he wouldn’t have to experience the multiple broken bones he was about to endure. Could he use Wingardium Leviosa on such a large object that was already moving at a high speed? Tom slipped out his wand, took a breath of air and— Watched Harry gracefully pull out of the dive seconds before ruin, a glinting object waving in his hand. 

_”Harry Potter!”_

Tom let his wand fall to his side. His eyes followed Harry as the confidence seemed to ooze out of him, leaving him a fidgeting mess as he followed furious Professor Mcgonagall into the school. 

•••

“The whole Slytherin team has gone mad,” Draco fumed, a disgusted look on his face. “Bloody _Potter_ , a seeker! Just wait until my father hears about this!” 

Harry stifled a snort of laughter, pulling his textbook up higher to cover his face. Tom glanced in his general direction before his focus returned to his homework in almost an instant. Harry tried to fight off the small sinking in his stomach by burying himself in the words of Adalbert Waffling. There was nothing like dry, boring Magical Theory to cover up disappointment. 

While it had been hilarious watching Malfoy blabber on in shock and fury for thirty minutes, Tom had still said nothing since Harry announced his new position as seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Harry had been excited to tell him, because it would show that he was good at _something_ , and better yet something that he hadn’t needed Tom to teach him. A small, shriveled part of him had thought that Tom Riddle would be proud, or maybe even excited for him, but he had just continued to scribble paragraph after paragraph onto the parchment piled in front of him with no acknowledgment of Harry’s news at all.

He flinched at the sudden grating of a chair being pushed across the wooden floor. Tom was apparently done with his homework, a stack of papers held in his hands that he left to tuck neatly into his trunk. He seemed to pause a moment before reaching in to pull out his robes and scarf, and stood back up, pulling them on without hesitation. 

“Where are you going?” Malfoy paused his rant to ask incredulously. 

“For a walk,” Tom said, striding past their roommates with unfaltering purpose. However, he stopped when his hand touched the doorknob, and looked back into the room. “Harry, are you coming?” 

Draco made a livid sound that made Harry grin, and he quickly snapped his book shut to set it on his bed. He snatched his robe from his bedpost, not even bothering to put it on as he hurried to the door and walked past Tom into the common room. 

His second wind of excitement was cut short when they had spent ten minutes doing just as Tom had said—walking. Silently. With no mention of Quidditch in the slightest. Harry was starting to regret coming, it was only putting him in a fouler mood than he had been in in their room. At least he had Draco’s monologue of frustration to listen to there, but here the only sound was their footsteps clicking against the stone walkway.

He tapped his fingers against his leg anxiously as he tried to find something to say, if only to fill the silence.

“Harry—“

“Yeah?” He quickly said, though he was almost immediately filled with embarrassment when Tom faltered at being cut off. Harry cursed his eagerness and rushed to remedy the awkward atmosphere he created. “Sorry! I just— What were you gonna say?”

Tom paused only for a moment before he regained his words. 

“I was wondering if you would be kind enough to help me with something,” He started, the charm that all of their professors seemed to adore back in full force.

“Of course,” Harry said, though his feelings mixed within him. He was surprised, and even a little bit flattered that one of the brightest students was asking _him_ for help, but disappointment also filled him. He still hadn’t acknowledged Harry’s accomplishment, and he was starting to reach the point of frustration—

“I would like you to help me with my flying.” Tom propositioned.

“I—you—“ Harry blinked in surprise, nearly tripping on the tile. He wanted Harry to teach him something? _Flying_? Harry beamed. “I’d love to!” 

“Wonderful.” Tom said, and his face spread into what Harry thought was a smile, and yet almost felt like the ghost of a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m fueled strictly by hot chocolate and increasingly frustrated Tom Riddle


	4. Be My Second?

“Flint must’ve taken a bludger to the head! Doesn’t he know that Harry was raised by those disgusting Muggles? He probably doesn’t know a thing about Quidditch, he’ll be sweeping the ground with his broom!” 

“A lot braver now that you’re on the ground with your bodyguards, Malfoy,” Harry gritted out, knuckles white from the grip he had on his fork.

Tom pulled his copy of _Charms of Defence and Deterrence_ into his lap as Malfoy quickly stood from the table, rattling his cup of orange juice. He wasn’t going to let Draco’s foolish anger issues destroy both a perfectly good book and his good name with the library. It was far too early in his schooling to get on the bad side of the librarian. He had yet to look up from the text in his lap this evening, but truth be told he hadn’t read much of anything. He’d mostly been listening to what he’d recently found to be one of his favorite pastimes— Harry fighting with the other Slytherins.

“I could take you on my own any time! How about tonight, Potter? Wizard’s duel. That is, if you even know what that is,” Draco said smugly, arms crossed.

“You’re on, Malfoy,” Harry said, and Tom glanced up to find not a glimmer of fear in his cold eyes. 

He was enthralled by the confidence that had been taking hold of Harry recently. Draco was loud, and didn’t think things through enough, but he did seem to be good for one thing—pushing Harry to a level he didn’t seem to be able to get to on his own. It was reminiscent of the times Tom had needed the cruelty of the other children at Wool’s Orphanage in order to start expressing his magical abilities. It had made him better. Made him superior. 

“Good,” Malfoy smirked. “My second is Crabbe. Who will yours be?” He had a knowing look in his eye that said Harry wouldn’t have a clue what a ‘second’ was. 

“Uh—Tom.” It sounded like both a question and an answer. 

“Naturally,” Tom agreed, gently shutting his book. Draco looked over and seemed satisfied with the answer. Little did he know that Tom also could only guess as to what the role of a ‘second’ was. He assumed that Malfoy didn’t have a clue that Tom, like Harry, had been raised by Muggles. 

“We’ll meet in the Trophy Room at curfew,” Malfoy turned and strode out of the dining hall, Crabbe and Goyle hurrying behind him to catch up. 

Harry took a few bites of his food that he seemed to contemplate heavily over before looking back up at Tom. He found himself a bit displeased that whatever determination and animosity that had been in Harry’s eyes before did not linger.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, spearing another potato with his fork. “For being my second, I mean. What _is_ a second anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Tom said flatly, reopening his book. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. He looked as if he’d been thoroughly convinced that Tom had known exactly what he was talking about. “Guess we’ll have to go back to the library,” he said after a moment. “Starting to feel like it’s a second common room.” 

•••

The moonlight spilled through the windows and glinted off of Tom’s hair, reflecting in his unfazed eyes. It brightened his usually dark features, and seemed to illuminate the poise he carried with him always, which made Harry feel at once both envious and impressed. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry broke the silence with a whisper. “For taking up all our time tonight. We were supposed to practice flying.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Tom soothed, peeking around a corner before continuing on their tiptoed path. “Draco needs to be taught a lesson more than I do.” 

Harry grinned and gripped his wand tighter. They rounded the corner and slipped into the Trophy Room, which was empty and dark. It seemed that they’d beaten Malfoy and Crabbe there. Tom stood in the middle of the room for a moment, almost as if he were frozen. Harry lowered his eyebrows in confusion as he watched Tom turn around and make his way back to the entrance with even more cautious care than they’d taken to get here. 

He felt the anxiety fill his limbs when Tom tensed, and as soon as he turned around and uttered a hushed “Filch—“, Harry sprang into action. 

He bolted down the hall they’d come from, and it took a mere moment before he heard Tom follow suit. Filch’s angry shouts mixed with the sound of their desperate footfalls filled the corridor and fueled his panic induced speed. Just as he was about to round the corner, a hand yanked at the back of his robes. Harry nearly fell into the room he was pulled into, and the door shut as soon as he was in. 

“Hey—“ Harry started, but he was cut off by a quick hand clamped over his mouth. When his eyes adjusted to the dark he could see Tom holding a finger to his lips in a silent gesture, his shoulders rising and falling in his effort to school the harsh breathing that their run had brought on. Harry felt his own lungs burning, but tried desperately to keep quiet as they pressed their ears against the door and listened for Filch’s fading footsteps. The hand was removed from his mouth once the hall was silent, and Harry straightened up.

When his eyes met Tom’s dark pupils and angry frown he almost wished he’d been caught by Filch. 

“Why did you run?” Tom hissed in quiet fury. “I could’ve talked our way out of it—running admits guilt.” Harry opened his mouth slightly in an attempt to answer, but Tom paid him no attention as he yanked the door open and left with long, determined strides. 

Harry searched for what to say the whole way back to the dormitory, but he couldn’t find the words that would ease the clenched fists at Tom’s sides. He’d followed him from behind at a safe distance—Harry was not eager to be subjected to the ferocious gleam of his eyes again any time soon. Tom had already slid into their room by the time Harry had made it to the common room. 

He considered maybe staying out here until Riddle fell asleep, but he startled at the sound of Malfoy’s confused shout, which was immediately followed by a rather aggressive sounding “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ”

Harry tiptoed to the door and was already able to hear Malfoy’s pathetic whimper before he even came into view. When he did get a view of the scene, his feet stopped—gratefully so, because Tom didn’t look in the mood to be interrupted. 

He stood there with his fist curled into the front of a frozen Malfoy’s pajama shirt, while his other hand held a wand jabbed against his throat. His breathing came harshly, but it wasn’t the same as when they’d been out of breath earlier—it was more of a restricted fury that came out in short bursts of air through flared nostrils. His lips curled in disgust when he spoke.

“Don’t _ever_ think you can get away with something like that again,” He warned in a low voice that sent a shiver up Harry’s spine. “You are worthless, and if you prove to be an inconvenience I’ll make you wish you’d never come to this school.” He barely held Malfoy’s eyes for a moment longer before mercilessly dropping him to the floor and striding to his bed. 

With a single, aggressive flick of his wand his blanket was yanked over him, and Harry was left to somehow fit this image of Tom Riddle into the one he knew. It may take all night. Or week. Harry didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u ever like, as a non confrontational person, lose ten years off your life span writing somebody confrontational 
> 
> I’m excited for less confrontation next time I hope you guys are ;*


	5. Murtlap Essence

_”You want them, Tom? Come get them!”_

_Tom shifted his feet, the cold mud soaking into his socks. The river bubbled with a calming sound, and there wasn’t a whisper of noise beyond it. He already knew not to take the bait. If he stretched his legs and arms as far as they would go to reach for the pair of shoes dangling from the boy’s fingers, Tom’s vulnerable stance would only be used to trip him, and he would be left to painstakingly clean more than just his muddied socks. He lifted his chin and stared, watching bits of dirt fly off of his sneakers and tumble into the water._

_“Give them back,” Tom said in the most authoritative voice he could. It seemed to fall short though, because the boy only put a hand to his stomach to ease the laughter that burst out of him._

_“I don’t think so.”_

_Tom found himself darting forward as his shoes were released, but the river consumed them before he could even reach out his hand. His fists clenched as the boy erupted into another fit of cackles._

_“Itty bitty Riddle looks so sad!” The boy sang. “Don’t let it get you down. You can always go fishing for them!”_

_Tom’s feet were swiped out beneath him and his gasp of surprise brought nothing but water to his lungs. He shot up in shock and fury, the river lapping just at his chin as he coughed and spluttered. It wasn’t until he’d pulled in a desperate gulp of air that he registered the pained screams that filled his ears._

_Tom heaved himself over the riverbed and pushed his soaking hair out of his face to behold the squirming boy inches away in the mud. His foot was bent in a horribly wrong direction, as if it had just suddenly snapped backwards of its own accord._

_A small smile touched Tom’s lips, and he stood to watch the boy’s pained howls with dripping clothes and freezing skin for as long as it would take for somebody to find them._

Tom awoke with a light feeling in his chest. He felt he must’ve had a rather pleasant dream. The bed creaked as he sat up and rubbed his face of its last fragments of sleep. When he removed his hands, he paused. The dangling lamplight of their room spilled over empty green sheets all around him. Even Harry’s bed, which was usually occupied until the latest hours of the morning on a Saturday such as this, was piled with crumpled blankets and yet no occupant. Tom glanced at his watch resting on the nightstand.

7:25 A.M. 

While it wasn’t absurd to think people would be up at this hour—particularly not Tom, who kicked himself for sleeping in—it didn’t seem plausible that they had suddenly become early risers when he _knew_ who his roommates were. Especially Harry. He stayed beneath the cover of his warm blankets right up until he could just catch the end of breakfast, unless of course he needed something from Tom. But there was no messy haired boy following him around like a loyal puppy at the moment, so that didn’t seem to be the case. 

Tom slid out of bed and made quick work of his morning routine. With dutiful strides he had made it to the dining hall in minutes, which was nearly empty save for the few usual early birds—and Harry Potter sitting on his lonesome, far from their usual table.

“Good morning,” Tom greeted as he slid onto the bench in front of him. 

Harry flinched and looked up, nearly dropping the bacon that was in his hand. 

“Morning, Tom,” He said hesitantly, his gaze quickly dropping back to his plate. 

Tom narrowed his eyes at the strange behavior. Harry was timid, of course, but he seemed to always be grateful for his company rather this current show of discomfort. If the subtle angling of his body away from Tom and toward the exit had anything to say, he was itching to get away from him as quickly as politely possible. 

“What has you up so early?” Tom pried, eyes glued to his face. 

Harry took a quick bite of his food—probably to buy time to think of a suitable answer. When he finally swallowed, he let out a small: “Quidditch practice,” and began to gather his things. “I’ve—got to go, they’ll be waiting for me,” He mumbled nervously, though he paused as he got up from his seat as if he needed permission to be released. 

“Good luck, then,” Tom replied coolly. 

Harry nodded and gave a quick “Thanks,” before quickly fleeing the dining hall. 

Tom sat in silence, staring at the spot Harry had been moments before. He tapped his finger against the table thoughtfully, and the night prior bubbled up in his mind. 

Maybe Harry didn’t appreciate acts of violence. He was a rather nervous boy. A pushover in some regards. 

Tom straightened. An easy fix, then, if that was the problem. He would simply have to cover up the outburst that was fresh in the boy’s mind with a new, wholeheartedly positive experience. 

Tom stood without a second thought for breakfast, heading toward the library with a new sense of purpose. 

••• 

Harry had successfully avoided Tom the entire weekend, and he was starting to feel exhausted. Waking up earlier than him and looking over his shoulder at every shuffle he happened to hear had drained Harry more than he would’ve thought possible. Yet, his efforts will have been for nothing now that it was time for classes again. He couldn’t hope to avoid Riddle’s attention for long in such close quarters. 

Harry glanced up from his notes to look at the perfect posture and well kept hair at the front of the classroom. A part of him felt guilty for leaving Tom alone with nothing but flimsy excuses as an explanation. He felt that if a friend did that to _him_ he would probably feel incredibly abandoned and lonely. Harry made up his mind right then to confront him after class. What could it hurt to ask what had made him so upset? Understanding would give Harry less to fear, and maybe let Tom know that he still cared for him.

As Harry was beginning to feel anxiety bubble up in his stomach with class drawing to an end, he blinked in surprise when a little paper bird interrupted his thoughts by flitting gracefully onto his desk. It was a rather cute little thing, and Harry wanted to do anything but unfold it, but he could see bits of writing and knew it must be a note.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered to the small bird-like note, grimacing as he unfolded it. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Please meet me after class. I will be waiting in the corridor for you._

_—Tom_

He felt his heart rate pick up as soon as he read the words on the parchment. Was Tom going to hex him for being a terrible friend? If only he had planned to confront him earlier, maybe it wouldn’t have come to Harry being thrown in the Hospital Wing. 

When class was released his limbs moved slowly while gathering his things, mind buzzing. He caught sight of Tom’s dark hair slipping out the door, and tried to take in a calming breath. Maybe his plan to talk it out with him could still work—if Harry got any words in before he was blasted with twelve spells and curses at once. 

When he managed to slink out of the classroom, Tom already had his heavy stare trained on him from across the hall. Harry gulped and somehow got his feet to move forward. 

“Harry,” Tom greeted, and Harry almost felt his legs go out. Any second now the boy would be drawing his wand, he knew it. “I have—“

“Why were you so angry?” Harry blurted. “Um, after Filch. Why were you so angry?” 

Tom’s eyes became owlish and it took a moment for anything to come out of his open mouth. “I— _You_ want to be expelled? Why were you not angry? _I_ won’t let myself get sent back. I can’t go back.” His nearly spat, if one could do so in such a quiet tone. 

“Can’t...go back to your family?” Harry asked in slight confusion.

He let out a single dry laugh. “ _Family._ ” The word dripped with disgust, and Tom sneered. “Those Muggles are not my _family_.” 

Harry paused, caught off guard. He hadn’t known Tom lived with Muggles. He had just been assuming that he came from some prominent Pureblood family that Harry had no way of knowing, just like the rest of the Slytherins seemed to be. “You live with muggles?” He asked without thinking. 

The look on Tom’s face quickly became as if he’d seen something vile and filthy, and Harry immediately regretted asking. He saw Tom’s shaking fingers clench around something in his hand, and after he took what seemed to be a whole minute to compose himself to his usual level headed state—albeit a bit more of a tight, forced version—he lifted the hand up to Harry. When he forced his fingers open with what looked to be some difficulty, Harry found himself staring down at a vial of blue liquid. 

“What is that?” Harry asked in confusion. 

“Murtlap Essence,” Tom’s tone was clipped. “You’ve had cuts and bruises since starting Quidditch. Use it.” 

As soon as Harry gingerly lifted the bottle up, Tom’s hand snapped back to his side and Harry was left to watch him quickly disappear down the hall. Harry looked back at the potion for a moment in silent appreciation before he delicately slipped it into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr account to post Tom Riddle memes but the post wouldn’t show up in the tags and now I want to start a revolution 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for comments and kudos!! 💕 I never thought it would be so fun to write a fic, but this has been so enjoyable to make already!!


	6. Puddles of Black and Blue

“Good practice, Harry,” Flint called, and Harry smiled back at him without stopping his walk back to the school. He’d never been eager to leave Quidditch practice before, but he’d also never been eager to see scrapes on his hands and knees either. The chance to try the Murtlap Essence from Tom was enough to make normally upsetting things exciting.

He stuffed his hand in his pocket to pull out the pretty blue potion. Harry studied the vial in his palm for what must have been the hundredth time that day. It was the first gift a classmate had ever given him. He almost didn’t want to use it up—he’d rather keep it on top of his dresser to look at, but Tom had very clearly said “Use it,” so Harry felt that he probably should. Just as he was about to at last pull the lid off, there was a blur of brown hair and the next moment he found himself knocked across the floor. 

“Hey!” Harry complained, pushing himself onto his knees and rubbing at the elbow that had taken the most of his fall. 

However, all he got in response was: “Murtlap Essence? What’s with Slytherins and Murtlap Essence?” 

He almost immediately recognized the voice of Hermione Granger from how often she volunteered answers in class. He glanced at her disheveled state on the floor that must look rather similar to Harry’s own appearance at the moment, but felt his face break into a look of frustration when he caught sight of the shattered glass and puddle of blue between them. 

“You broke it,” Harry muttered in disbelief. “Why couldn’t you watch where you were going?”

“ _Me?_ What about _you?_ You were the one walking around while foolishly staring at your potion!” 

“You’re not even sorry!” 

“I’ve got nothing to be sorry for!” Hermione said defiantly, gathering her books and papers before the draining potion could stain them. “Besides, why do you care so much? Just make another one.” 

“I can’t make them, Tom gave it to me,” Harry grumbled. If he tried to make a potion like that it would probably end up enlarging the cuts instead of fixing them. 

“Oh,” Hermione said, as if she’d just come to some sudden revelation. “So _that’s_ why he was so insistent about getting that potions book from me in the library. But why did he need to make one for you? You should just go to the Hospital Wing.” 

She was rather chastising by the end, but Harry was hardly paying attention at that point. He could feel the embarrassment that flushed his face. He’d thought that maybe Tom had bought the potion at some point and simply had it on hand, but the idea that he had hunted down the instructions and made it from scratch, _for Harry_ , made it all the more mortifying that it was now all over the floor. He hadn’t even gotten to try it. 

“Well. Sorry for your potion,” Hermione said rather curtly, brushing her knees off as she stood up. “Though you ought to be more careful. See you in Potions, I suppose.” With her words of wisdom spewed onto Harry, she left. 

He _should_ have been more careful. 

•••

He should have been more _careful_ , Tom thought furiously. 

What was he doing, sharing information that would only make him appear weaker? Damn Harry Potter with his wide green eyes and his blurted, thoughtless questions that made Tom seem to _spill knowledge that belonged to only him._

Maybe Harry had not been the right choice in an ally. Tom was starting to see the bundle of weaknesses that the boy was poisoning him with, and for what? Loyalty, and nothing more. Harry gave him nothing but blind loyalty. He was a fool, pathetic and insidious—

Tom’s hand fell into something wet, and he looked down with disdain to find the quill that he’d been aggressively tapping had covered his parchment with ink blots and smeared his palms a deep black. He stared blankly for a moment before snatching the paper up and crushing it, his hands soiling what little of the sheet that had been untouched with stains. He was about to throw it at the door, but froze halfway through the motion when it clicked open. 

Harry shuffled in, but stopped when his eyes met Tom, arm still raised and hands doused with ink. He didn’t seem to have anything to say about the sight, however, because what he _did_ say, in a rather wailful voice, was simply: 

“I broke it.” 

“What?” Tom wanted to pinch himself for falling for another one of Harry’s blurted attempts at conversation. 

“The Murtlap Essence,” his voice was small and his eyes didn’t ever seem to quite meet Tom’s. “I didn’t even get to try it. Hermione said you _made_ it! I’m so—“

“Stop,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, resisting the urge to let out the frustrated sigh that crept up his throat. “I’m not in the mood for apologies.” 

Harry shifted nervously on his feet, like the “sorry” that was now trapped within him caused him physical ailment. “Okay,” He said with clear difficulty. “What _are_ you in the mood for?” 

“Dinner,” Tom dropped his hand from his face, realizing how hungry he was after skipping both breakfast and lunch. “And no conversation. I’m tired of talking today.” 

Instead of answering, a laugh bubbled up from Harry until he had to cover his grinning face with his hands. Tom felt it should make him angry that he seemed to be laughing at his expense, but all he managed was a half hearted response. 

“What?” 

It took Harry a few tries to finally get out, “Might wanna check the mirror before you go,” and Tom felt his eyebrows furrow as he quickly walked to the mirror. 

He was ashamed to see his reflection. His nose was tragically smeared with ink, and Tom glanced down at his covered hands in dismay. 

“Bloody quill,” Tom muttered, and was greeted by a burst of laughter from Harry. He peered behind himself to find the boy partially folded over, rubbing at his watering eyes as he tried to stifle his laughs with little success. 

Tom turned back to glance a small smile in the mirror. He was grateful Harry’s eyes were filled with too many tears to see—He couldn’t have him believing it was because of _Harry_ that he was like this. 

•••

When Harry pulled on his robe the next morning, he was startled by the weight of it. He reached into the pocket skeptically, fingers brushing against smooth glass. 

“Hurry up, Harry. You’re gonna lose us more points if you’re late again,” Blaise warned on his way out of their dorm. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Harry said, pulling out the glass bottle that had been dropped in his pocket without his knowledge. He felt a wide grin spread over his face as soon as he caught sight of the familiar blue liquid of Murtlap Essence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone feels a need for Tom Riddle/Tomarry memes and drawings I made a tumblr to dump my stuff on 👌
> 
> It’s tomriddleswearjar please send me any and all Riddle jokes and questions so that I have an excuse to draw him 700 times


	7. Dry Clothes, a Warm Fire, and an Open-Casket Funeral

Harry rubbed his hands together and brought them up to his face to puff breaths of warm air into his palms. Even as his fingers froze and his nose was undoubtedly a bright rosy red, he had a definite spring in his step and a smile from ear to ear. Tom looked less thrilled as he wrapped a scarf around himself, but Harry was grateful for the polite smile he gave when he caught him watching. Harry thought he was being a rather good sport about trekking out onto the freezing grounds instead of curling up in front of the fire in Slytherin’s common room, simply because Harry had been insistent on being outside to witness the first sprinkling of snow cover Hogwarts. 

They walked all the way to the lake, which was a dark, frozen sheet. Tom seemed uninterested in the snowflakes that Harry watched in awe, and looked content to study the depths of the water beneath the ice instead. 

“It’s wonderful,” Harry remarked, rubbing away at the flakes that had started to fall onto his glasses. 

Tom simply hummed, but Harry didn’t have a chance to ask him how he could look so uninterested while witnessing such a magnificent sight. Draco was sauntering right up to them with Crabbe and Goyle following after him, their shuffled feet kicking away the perfect footprints Tom and he had made on the way. 

“Never seen snow before, Potter? Don’t you have it back in your Muggle home?” He sneered, greasy smile nearly covered by his scarf. “I wouldn’t have thought Riddle would like such pointless things—he’d have to get down from his high horse to enjoy them, and I think he’s stuck up there.” 

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled, and Harry felt his nails dig into his palms, but Tom appeared wholly unfazed. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry retorted. It didn’t look like Tom was going to say anything about the matter, and he couldn’t let Malfoy think he could just get away with whatever terrorizing pleased him. 

“Do you guys take turns picking fights?” Draco asked, miming a look of surprise. “Come on, Riddle! Where’s all the confidence and threats? Or is it all gone now that we both have wands and I’m not _sleeping_?” 

Tom’s face was expressionless and nearly unreadable, save for his eyes, which held nothing but a glint of boredom. “You’ll get expelled if you fight on campus,” He said in an almost informative way, as if he were giving helpful advice to a new student. 

Draco scoffed. “Perfect Potter and Perfect Riddle. I suppose you’re too good to fight, hm?” He emphasized his words by strolling towards Tom and giving him a light shove with both his hands. 

Tom barely stumbled a single step, but Harry’s breath stopped in his throat as he witnessed Tom’s eyes widen in shock. The foot that had fallen back landed on the Great Lake’s ice and immediately slipped forward, sending him into a flailing collapse towards the ground.

With a loud crack and splash of water, Tom was swallowed by the lake, and Draco choked on a surprised fit of laughter. 

•••

Bone-seeping cold and pitch black consumed Tom in an instant, and his lungs involuntarily gasped in shock. Nothing but water filled them, and it shot panic through his limbs that seemed to just be realizing the situation they were in. His arms and legs worked against the weight of the lake, but it turned out to be a futile struggle. He was no closer to the surface than he had been before—in fact, the opening of light in the ice seemed to be further away now if anything. As his chest tightened painfully, Tom passingly wished he hadn’t put on so many heavy layers of clothing before leaving his dorm that day.

As his legs began to grow tired of their relentless kicking and the air bubbles that escaped his throat and nose grew fewer and far between, Tom glimpsed a single hand break through the surface of the water. His arm stretched as far as it could, but his fingertips just barely brushed against the ends of the hand’s own. It quickly shot down and encircled his wrist with a tight grip that seemed to make Tom’s muscles give up in relief. 

The light that greeted him when he was pulled from the water was nearly blinding compared to the dark inkiness that the lake had filled his senses with. Tom coughed with such force that his ribs ached. Water evacuated his lungs and refilled with painfully sharp air. He couldn’t say how long it took before he was able to even notice the fact that his bare hands were bright red, buried in the snow, or that every muscle in his body seemed to be shaking, or that Harry was talking and had a hand laid on his back. 

“We should go to the Hospital Wing,” His voice rang out, laced with concern. 

Tom didn’t trust his voice to come out steadily when all of his limbs were consumed by desperate, trembling shivers, so he gave a nod and unsteadily rose to his feet. Funny that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. His arms pulled tightly across his torso, but it did nothing to block the cold that jabbed at him, and Harry’s furrowed eyebrows and outstretched hands that looked ready to catch him at a moment’s notice did nothing to help his mood. 

He’d kill Draco Malfoy. 

He’d also melt all the snow on campus if he could, but that seemed a less attainable goal. Tom was only interested in attainable things—Like dry clothes, a warm fire, and Draco’s open-casket funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe that I’m ready for potential murder 
> 
> not that I’m saying there’s going to be any 
> 
> soon
> 
> ever
> 
> at all? 
> 
> you’ll never know until you know, you know?


	8. Garden Snakes

Tom could hardly believe he had ever found “blind loyalty” to be a lackluster trait. 

It had only been three days since he had been pushed into the lake, and already Draco had lost his wand (thrown at the base of the Whomping Willow, courtesy of Harry), opened his dresser to find a hoard of garden snakes (skillfully caught at the hand of Harry) that had made him scream the most satisfyingly frightened sound, and once he’d cleared it of anything reptilian, found his dresser empty and all of his clothes, besides the pajamas that he wore, vanished (tossed into the Great Lake to freeze—Harry once more). It wasn’t even close to the level of punishment Draco owed him, but it was an enjoyable and entertaining start. It seemed that Harry was very dedicated when it came to friends, and Tom had succeeded in becoming the sole person of his affections. 

It was strange, though an oddly welcome experience. Tom had never had someone that went to such lengths for him without being threatened or manipulated. He hadn’t even hinted at wanting to make Malfoy miserable, and yet Harry seemed to instinctively know what he desired and took it upon himself to see that it was done. Creatively done, for that matter. And relentlessly—Harry was still bouncing ideas off of him while they walked to classes together. Tom felt that he could say, with hardly any doubt in his mind, that this had been one of the most enjoyable few days he had experienced. 

Tom was in such a positive mood from the last few days that when Harry came to ask him for something, he felt he wouldn’t mind saying yes to just about anything. 

“Are you going to the match? It’ll be my first actual game,” Harry’s smile looked equal parts nervous and thrilled, but his eyes held their own pool of pure determination. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tom said easily, reveling in the large grin that it caused Harry to break into. It was a new feeling, a simmering pleased one that had taken to thrumming beneath his skin whenever he was the one to put the smile on Harry’s face. It was like the many ways he’d practiced controlling his peers before, but this form of positive comments and kind deeds seemed to be working far better than Tom ever would have expected. Harry was the perfect subject, and some odd twist of fate had practically thrown him into his lap. It was _thrilling_. 

Tom would go to as many pointless Quidditch matches as it would take to keep Harry coiled beneath his fingers.

•••

“Good luck, Harry.”

He’d heard it from many students and teachers that day, but he clung to the one that Tom had offered in passing after dinner, charming smile plastered to his face and arms wrapped around a large book. It was the most comforting “Good luck” Harry could use to try to combat the nerves that clawed at his stomach at the sight of a team of scarlet robes in front of them. As soon as Harry mounted his broom like they were commanded, Madam Hooch blasted her whistle and the flickering red and green robes rose into the air before darting off into busy maneuvers. 

Harry tried not to watch the other players in amazement, and instead focused his attention on searching for the Snitch. When he scanned over the side of the field where the Slytherins were seated, however, against his better judgement, he found himself taking a moment to try to pinpoint a head of dark hair instead. It took him two tries of looking over the seats to finally spot the straight postured, focused figure of Tom—and a faint gold glint beside him. 

Adrenaline filled his limbs as he angled his broom forward, racing towards the Slytherin stands. His eyes didn’t stray from the flittering Snitch, they definitely hadn’t chanced a glance away to catch the moment of slightly widened eyes on Tom’s face, his arm reached out as far as it could—and his fingers curled around cold metal, buzzing wings slowing to a final stop. 

“ _Harry Potter has got the Snitch!_ ” The announcer’s voice rang in the air. “ _Slytherin wins!_ ”

The Slytherins erupted into cheers, and a few of the students sitting in the front row of the stands Harry was next to hurried to lean over the edge and give him a high five or a hearty congratulations. Harry felt his cheeks flush at the overwhelming amount of smiling faces pointed his way. He wasn’t used to such large amounts of positivity and friendliness. 

Harry glanced up at Tom’s seat and felt disappoint tug at his edge of his uplifted mood. He’d already missed him, distracted by the sea of cheers and screams. A group of students starting to chant his name quickly smothered the glum feeling however, and Harry felt a fast smile stretch wide across his face.

•••

Tom decidedly did not like Quidditch. 

The overzealous crowd falling over themselves to cheer on Harry was disgustingly infuriating. Though the speed and accuracy with which Harry flew had been, admittedly, impressive. Almost exhilarating to watch on its own—but the way Harry smiled at student after disgusting student as if they were something wonderfully exciting made Tom’s stomach constrict with loathing. He found himself wondering why he had ever agreed to go in the first place, shoes echoing through the empty halls as he walked through them with uninterrupted speed and purpose.

Quidditch was revolting. Almost as much so as Harry’s kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s your favorite type of snake? Western Indigos own my heart 🐍💕
> 
> I was not expecting so much “murder Draco” support and I gotta say I am so excited that we’re all boarding the same train


	9. Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed

“You were amazing!”

“Thanks,” Harry said sheepishly over the noise of the Slytherins shouting through their victory. The common room was packed with students, some that Harry didn’t think he’d even seen before now. Yet for all the people that had jammed themselves into the room to celebrate, Harry had not been able to find Tom throughout his repeated loops of the crowd. 

All of the congratulations and the slaps on the back were starting to become overwhelming, and Harry thought that he’d rather be alone to celebrate. With a couple cautionary glances to make sure nobody was coming up to tell him what a great match it had been, Harry took quick steps and slipped out the door and into the hallway with an immediate sense of relief. It was quiet, there was fresh air, and no bright green banners were in sight. 

Harry felt his shoulders relax the further he got from the common room. He didn’t even notice that his feet were automatically walking him to the library. The quietest place he could be, he supposed—and also the place Tom was most likely to be hiding out in. The halls were rather empty; he had hardly seen any students on his way. Though he supposed that just because he hadn’t _seen_ them didn’t mean they weren’t there, because even when he had been fairly confident that there wasn’t a soul about, Harry’s legs were being swept out from under him to the sound of explosive laughter. 

As soon as his face smashed into the stone floor with immediate sting, Harry regretted leaving the party. He lay there stunned for a moment before pushing himself up with scraped hands. The laughter was fading down the hall, and with still skewed glasses Harry shot a glance behind him to catch the disappearing gang of three with telltale blond hair in the middle. Though the image was rather broken up—his glasses were cracked across both lenses. Harry sighed and straightened them on his face anyways. 

•••

Tom flipped through the pages of _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ with increasing disappointment. The closest thing he could find to being even _remotely_ satisfying was a hex that would cause Malfoy’s teeth to grow to a disgusting length. That wasn’t good enough. It would just be another minor inconvenience rather than something big enough to teach Malfoy his place. 

There seemed to be nothing in the library that could help him. Rather, nothing he was allowed to touch—he had glimpsed quite a few promising sounding titles in the Restricted Section. Tom closed the book with dissatisfaction and got up to return it to its shelf. As he did, he happened to pass the librarian, a welcoming smile quickly splaying across his face. 

“Excuse me, Madam Pince?” Tom said in a somewhat hushed tone, careful to keep his voice low in the library, though still adequately light and friendly.

“Oh, Tom! Hello,” The librarian’s faces brightened just a bit. Tom had won her over fairly easily early in the year—she had commented a few times on how polite and studious he was. “Anything I can help you with?” 

“Yes, actually,” Tom began, keeping his tone conversational and any hint that he had a clear mission out of it. “I was wondering how one would go about gaining access to the Restricted Section.” 

The librarian looked a bit put off by the question, as if Tom shouldn’t be inquiring after such books. She answered nevertheless; “You’d have to have a signed note from one of your professors. But I wouldn’t bother with that section—you’re just a first year, there’s nothing there for your eyes.” 

“Oh, I’m only curious Madam Pince,” Tom waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, his warm smile still in place. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Of course,” Madam Pince chirped, turning back to the work she had been in the middle of. “Don’t stay up too late studying.” 

“I’ll be sure not to,” Tom nodded and brought himself back to his homework at his table, immediately skimming through all of his professors in his mind.

Who would give him permission to read from the Restricted Section? He’d have to find the most spineless and easily manipulated Professor he had. Possibly—

“Hello,” Harry’s voice accompanied a quiet thud into the chair next to Tom’s.

“Hello,” Tom echoed. He didn’t bother to look up from his homework, even though he hadn’t been focusing on it in the first place. He was still disgusted by the image of Harry’s smiles, so much so that he thought if he witnessed it one more time tonight he might have to go to the Hospital Wing for a stomachache. 

“What are you working on?” 

“Potions,” Tom wasn’t really sure if it was Potions or not, he hadn’t bothered to check. Maybe Professor Snape would write him a note of permission. Tom was particularly skillful in his class, and Snape seemed to have an extra interest in the Dark Arts. However, he wasn’t nearly spineless enough— 

“Could I work on it with you? I’m lousy at Potions.”

Tom had just now noticed the odd, slightly muffled sound to Harry’s voice, and against his better judgment found himself glancing up from his textbook and parchment. 

Harry looked as if he’d gotten into a fist fight with a hammer. His glasses, which had already been a pathetic pair held together by tape and sheer luck to begin with, were now covered in deep, long cracks. His nose was like a faucet left to drip blood along his face and the front of his shirt, and Tom found it odd that Harry was doing nothing to stop it. 

“What happened? Did your fan club get too excited?” Tom felt the sneer that wanted to escape him, but he kept himself civil. Though admittedly with some effort. 

“No, I—“ Harry’s eyebrows were furrowed. “I don’t have a ‘fan club’. Malfoy tripped me on the way to the library.” 

He felt an immediate sense of having been _wronged_ at the mention of Malfoy. Draco viewed Harry as an extension of Tom’s self—Tom had known this for a fact as soon as Malfoy had used his pathetic, whiny voice to mock them with “ _Perfect Potter and Perfect Riddle._ ” Whether or not Tom agreed with it, he and Harry had been deemed a connected pair. 

Tom reached out and watched Harry flinch in surprise as his hand touched his cheek. He relaxed after Tom’s pale fingers did nothing but turn his head every which way in meticulous motions. His eyes took in everything they could find, and Tom found himself so increasingly frustrated that he finally noticed his teeth biting into his cheek. 

Draco was sorely mistaken about his place in life if he was comfortable doing this sort of damage to something that belonged to _him_. 

Tom analyzed for only a moment more before pulling his sleeve over the palm of his hand and beginning to wipe away the blood running down Harry’s face. He would not have Harry wandering the halls looking like an advertisement to Malfoy’s superiority. 

After his sleeve was thoroughly coated in blood, Tom took out his wand and uttered a pronounced: “Oculus Reparo,” much to Harry’s amazement, if his widened eyes had anything to say. The shattered glass healed like an old wound and Harry took them off his face to study them. 

“Thanks,” He said almost breathlessly. Tom said nothing as he stood from his chair and left to retrieve a book. 

Harry carefully placed his glasses back on when Tom set _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ in front of him. He didn’t bother to sit and simply stood behind Harry’s chair as he looked over the cover.

“What’s this for?” He finally asked.

“Pick one for Draco and I’ll take care of it.” 

Harry looked up at him and then back at the cover. A bright smile took over his face, and he eagerly opened the book. 

Surprisingly enough, Tom wasn’t sickened by the expression in the slightest. In fact, it only made him all the more intent on seeing Malfoy suffer for his actions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! My phone is starting to kick the bucket and will only let me write in really short bursts, but I’m going to get a new one around the 15th so hopefully that’ll mean quicker updates again after that ✌️  
> Thank you so much for reading and I love seeing your comments, thank you for taking the time to write them!! 💕💕


	10. Like Friendship Bracelets

Harry's skin felt sticky with dry blood, and the drizzling rain outside looked incredibly tempting. He peeked at Tom's perfectly styled hair and couldn't imagine that he would readily agree to a quick run through the rain, even if it might wash away some of the blood coating his sleeve. Which was, in all honesty, a shame. Harry felt that the moon was especially bright tonight, and it bathed the grounds in an unarguably beautiful glow. 

Harry chanced another look at Tom, this time a hopeful, assessing one. There didn't seem to be any of his earlier tension left in his shoulders, and his jaw had unclenched itself. Harry felt a sudden spark of courage.

"You know, Tom," Harry turned around to walk backwards in front of him, already feeling a grin threatening to split his face. "I never got the chance to teach you how to fly." 

Tom hummed, but his eyes narrowed just a fraction. Harry almost didn't catch the quick glance to the raindrop littered windows, but apprehension wasn't going to stop him—he had all the leftover energy and excitement from the match that afternoon that he felt he could ask Tom _anything._

"Nobody's on the Quidditch pitch right now," Harry insisted.

"Maybe it has something to do with the rain," Tom said with an unamused raise of his eyebrow. "Or the dark." 

Despite the response, Harry's smile made his cheeks sore with its persistence. "Nobody will be able to see you practicing!" 

Tom's features were the furthest from pleased, but after a moment of challenging silence he let out a sigh. "Fine," He said, straightening up even more. "But I don't have a broom."

"Don't worry, I do!" Harry nearly ran to the pitch in excitement. 

•••

"When you said you had a broom, I didn't think you meant we would be sharing it." 

Harry laughed, putting his hands in place on the handle. "You're gonna want to hold on," He advised, though Tom seemed hesitant and altogether uncomfortable on the back of the broom.

As soon as he kicked off from the ground, Tom's arms quickly latched around Harry's waist. Though he suspected that had more to do with his surprise than him following instructions. 

For a moment Harry let the broom simply hover in place. He could feel Tom looking around, and he thought back to the first time _he_ had flown. A small smile spread across his lips, though it wasn't a reminiscent smile. It was much more akin to a mischievous one. 

Tom let out a choked sound of surprise when the broom bolted forward, and Harry felt his arms tighten their hold on his torso so much so that he could feel their shaking through his cloak. 

"Harry!" Tom shouted in what most likely was meant to be a commanding tone, but it had too much of a frantic edge to it. "Let me down!" 

Harry only contemplated landing for a moment. A moment that barely lasted up to the point when he decided it would be much more fun to dip the broomstick forward and speed them up. 

_"Harry!"_ Tom's shocked scream mixed with Harry's own cheer of excitement, though both of them were muffled by the wind rushing past their ears. 

Harry curved around the pitch flawlessly, but sadly there was no way Tom had noticed his practiced technique since he'd chosen to bury his face in Harry's back. He would almost say he pitied Tom, but the thrill of flying in the night air was a quick cover up for that. 

Without hesitation, Harry angled the broom downwards, his legs outstretched to catch himself on the field. As his feet collided with the ground, a sound of harshly ruffled grass and a quiet huff of shock burst out beside him. Harry was wincing before he'd even turned around to see the crumpled heap that was Tom. He was not going to be happy. 

"Sorry!" Harry hurried over to offer him a hand up. "I didn't think to tell you to look when we were landing!"

Tom glared at his hand, tight lipped and nostrils flared. 

Harry didn't think that the flared nostrils were helping the bloody nose at all.

•••

Tom's jaw tightened as he sat at the end of his bed with an annoyed _thump_. Flying on broomsticks was a death trap and witches and wizards had best find a new hobby if they wanted to live to the ripe age of thirty. 

"I'm so sorry, Tom," This was the seventh attempt at an apology Harry had made since their disastrous attempt at a broom ride—and the seventh time Tom wasn't going to deign to give him a response other than a cold stare. Though he wasn't sure how threatening his stare could be with his nose draining blood down his chin. 

After some clattering around in his drawers, Harry quickly plopped down on the floor in front of Tom. He didn't get a chance to see what Harry had curled in his palm before his other hand had reached up to Tom's face. 

The contact of Harry's thumb to the skin above Tom's lip made him flinch, small enough that he hoped possibly Harry hadn't noticed, even though he was sitting right across from him. It wasn't pain that had made Tom flinch, it had actually been quite the opposite. He was surprised by the delicacy with which Harry ran his thumb through the blood, as if he were afraid of damaging Tom further. 

Tom was torn between stubborn thoughts of _as he should be_ and _I am not fragile_. 

"At least now we match," Harry said meekly, letting his bloodied hand fall to his lap and twist at the lid of the vile he had taken from his drawer. "Everybody will be able to tell that we're friends. Like friendship bracelets, except a little more painful." 

A familiar blue liquid flashed past Tom's eyes as Harry reached to rub some on the scrapes that littered Tom's cheek. He felt frustration bubbling in his stomach. 

"You didn't use the Murtlap Essence?" Tom asked in disbelief. 

He had made two practice batches, and then had had to make two more as both a gift and a replacement gift after Harry had lost the first. The fact that he wasn't using it had Tom's features creasing with thinly veiled anger again. Harry must not have caught the increased tension though, because he was still dutifully focused on Tom's cuts and bruises. 

"It was too special to waste on normal Quidditch scrapes," Harry said without hesitation, observing his work before nodding in satisfaction and closing the vile. "I was saving it for something important!" 

Tom's angry train of thought stuttered, broke down, and was deemed irreparable. What was he supposed to think of that? He wasn't sure how to feel, but it clearly was no longer frustration. 

"At least you haven't broken this one," Tom eventually said stiffly, pulling his feet up on the bed. 

Harry's face broke into a smile as if Tom had just announced that he was no longer angry with him, and that their 'friendship' could proceed as normal. 

Maybe he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, I'm sorry this is so late 😭  
> I'm not very practiced at writing so I run out of inspo easily, but I'm trying to work on it to update more!! Thank you for reading and I hope you guys are doing okay during this hectic time!! 💕

**Author's Note:**

> Heyoo! This is my first fic and I’m excited to work on it and hopefully improve!! 
> 
> Also I thought I’d maybe add that this is more of a ‘meet you half way’ sort of time travel/alternate universe where Harry and Tom both end up in the time of Harry’s first year of school!


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